The Tablet
by EnquiringMind
Summary: One-shot.  Harry is twenty-two.  The war wages on, and an unlikely 'hero' takes a stolen moment to reflect on his past and one of Hermione's most brilliant inventions.


Disclaimer: I am NOT JKRowling. She is a genius, and I am merely borrowing a character or two for a moment. I am not making any profit from this. This is merely for non-monetary entertainment. I do not mean any disrespect to her, or her works, by writing this. Also, I do not own or am in any way profiting by referencing a well-known and used bit of new technology. This is all for non-profit amusement.

AUTHOR NOTES: This is my first stab at a fanfic. I have been an avid reader for years, but somehow, tonight, I felt like writing. Let me know what you think. Should I turn this one-shot into something more? Please R&R.

STORY NOTES: 'Indicates unspoken thoughts'

SUMMARY: One-shot. Harry is twenty-two. The war wages on, and an unlikely 'hero' takes a stolen moment to reflect on his past and one of Hermione's most brilliant inventions.

~~~~~~~~The Tablet~~~~~~~~

Harry rarely allowed moments of reflection. He didn't have the time, or the energy, to indulge in such a pastime. Stolen moments like the one he was currently experiencing didn't happen very often. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had simply sat, and thought.

'The last time was probably when I was still learning how to meditate so I could master occlumency and self-control…' he thought to himself.

But just this once, he allowed himself to relax, or at least, tried to - as much as he knew how.

Normally, his mental barriers, honed from numerous years of occlumency, kept everything in his mind in its proper place: out of sight. Once he had learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, control his emotions, and reign in his wild temper, his practiced skill allowed him to continue day-to-day, unhindered by thoughts, worries, emotions, _memories_ that would have cost him too much time and energy to otherwise consider.

::::FLASHBACK TO THE END OF 5TH YEAR:::

He was fifteen when Dumbledore had revealed the prophecy to him.

'Fifteen!'

Sirius had just died in the department of mysteries.

'His only link to his family!'

Voldemort had revealed himself.

'He was back, and the wizarding world at large knew it.'

He had destroyed much of the Headmaster's office.

'Wow, I really did used to have a violent temper.'

::::END FLASHBACK::::

Some memories, such as the one in Dumbledore's office, were clear as day and could still make him squirm with their intensity, while others merely ghosted the background of his thoughts, leaving nothing but shadowy traces of lingering, phantom emotion.

He was twenty-three now, had been a legal adult in the wizarding world for years, but was only just beginning to see the world around him.

'What was Dumbledore thinking? I was only fifteen when he placed the fate of the world on my shoulders. How did he expect me to deal with all the expectation? It had been too much. Yes,' he admitted to himself, 'Dumbledore was certainly a fool about some things. But he got quite a bit right, too…'

Nowadays, Harry was beginning to ask questions, to look beyond the surface for other meanings in everything he did, saw, and heard. He craved different perspectives, so exhausted of the simplicity of "good vs. evil" "dark vs. light" "Voldemort vs. him, Harry." He was beginning to really comprehend what it meant to make a decision, and stick to it. He took loyalty as a good example. It was usually rather easy to ally oneself with a particular party, but following through was a whole different story.

He thought momentarily of Draco Malfoy, who had walked the same steps as his godfather, Severus Snape. Young and arrogant, he had taken the Dark Mark in hopes of achieving…. Harry actually didn't know what Draco had hoped to achieve by taking another man's brand on his arm, but his remorse over his foolish, uninformed, and hasty action a few years later was evident. Dire, in fact. So dire, that he had come to Harry, on his knees, begging for absolution, to be free of the Dark that had tainted his life, his soul, his future.

Harry smiled, perhaps a bit fondly, as to the result of that particular meeting. Draco had agreed to become a double agent, again following his godfather's example, and had covertly relayed intel back to Harry for years. They rarely met, maybe twice a year in person, otherwise they communicated through their Tablets.

'Ah yes, the invention of the Tablets. Hermione certainly was incredibly clever to have devised those.' He marveled at the sheer luck of having a muggleborn as a best (and brilliant) best friend. Taking a piece of muggle technology and creating its magical counterpart was something only a highly talented and muggle-raised witch or wizard could have hoped to accomplish.

Hermione had devised a metallic Tablet, that when written on, allowed its inscription to be sent to another tablet to be read. She had spent ages working out the charms, potions, and Arithmancy equations to make them work perfectly, essentially creating the perfect spy tool. Why risk a secret encounter with an informant, when both parties could stay safely at home in obscurity and anonymity, and communicate openly? Quick memories, or snapshots, could also be sent through the tablets, allowing for quick visual recognition of people, places, and even spells.

There were only three Tablets in existence: the one he, Harry, owned, Hermione's, and the one Draco used.

Hermione, genius that she was, had encrypted passwords on the tablets, taking the idea from the Marauder's Map, so the writer could direct his message at either, or both, of the Tablets. And of course, no one but the Tablet's owner could see or access the device.

'Best of all,' Harry thought, 'they rolled up into almost nothingness.' With a separate password the tablet would instantly roll itself up, shrink, and securely attach itself to any piece of jewelry the person happened to be wearing. If the necklace, anklet, or ring that it attached to was removed, forcibly or voluntarily, the shrunken Tablet would immediately attach to something else, like the wearer's dagger hilt or wand holster. Somehow, Hermione had managed to solve and use the Arithmancy equations that melded the muggle, Newton's, Law of Gravity with the wizard, Merlin's, Law of Incoherency.

In essence, each Tablet _gravitated_ around its individual owner. It simply could not be lost since it was forever orbiting its owner. Harry was ecstatic when he first learned of her invention, as he had been concerned for months over what had consumed his best friend with such feverish research. Those were the days before he had full master of his occlumency: the days when he still reacted to good news with brilliant exuberance and good cheer, but by equal turns, disappointments and loss with rage and despair. He could scarcely relate to the undisciplined, flighty boy in his memories. The gangly, confused, scared teen was simply no longer a part of his identity.

Harry felt the tell-tale pins and needles crawling up his ankle, noticing that his leg had fallen asleep. Reluctantly he uncrossed his legs, his foot falling heavily to the floor. He had made an honest attempt at reclining in a rather unyielding chair, but had decided to make the most of his stolen moment alone. He felt no more relaxed than when he had sat down, roughly thirty minutes prior, but reminiscing about the Tablets' invention brought him a feeling he hadn't felt in ages: hope.

And where there was hope, there was chance.

With chance came opportunity.

With opportunity, success.

Yes, he would succeed.

Resolutely, he stood. He reached out with his mind, feeling his body from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He felt his own strength, both physical, and mental, and balanced on his tip toes for a moment, just to feel the reassuring contracting of his now well-toned calves. He was strong. Stronger than he had ever been. It was a relief to know that he was capable, able to fight.

It was nearly dusk, the sun readying itself to set. The sun lazily streamed through the windows, casting a warm, expectant hue across the floor. Harry sighed, once, and replaced his mental shields. Each one went up, layer after layer, protecting everything he had ever witnessed, thought, or felt.

A moment later, emerald green eyes flashed open. It was time to go, and he was ready.


End file.
